But first, breakfast. Replenish the energy she’d expended screwing Curtis into the wee hours. She grabbed his white shirt from the floor and slid it on. He wore a subtle amount of cologne, but it lingered on the fabric, along with his natural, masculine scent. She pulled the front edges together and hugged herself. Maybe she’d tuck this shirt away in her bag and take it home. A memento of their fun times together. Something to help her miss him less when the fun ended once and for all.
Shit, she’d become one of those psycho chicks. She really needed to put some distance between her and the owner of this shirt.
“Curtains would be good,” she grumbled while sliding the bedroom’s pocket doors open.
“I have some. I like to keep them open.”
She shaded her eyes, blinking rapidly to bring the room, and the voice’s owner, into focus. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I went out for a run earlier. I’ve been trying to keep quiet so I wouldn’t disturb you. But if I’d known you’d come out of the room wearing nothing but my shirt and those wicked nipple rings, I would’ve rattled some pots and pans an hour ago.”
“That would’ve suited me fine.” Having sex beat thinking any day. “Speaking of suits…wow. Are you going undercover as a corporate billionaire or something?” She’d thought he looked amazing in the tux at the wedding, but the steel-blue suit he wore now might be even better. Forget that, it was better.
The only thing wrong with the picture-perfect hunk leaning on the kitchen counter was the expression on his face. The straight line of his lips didn’t match his suggestive statement. This was not a man who looked happy to see her emerge from his bedroom. Maybe the reality of what he’d done last night had hit him.
Well, she could fix that easily enough. “Forget I asked. Whatever top-secret shindig you’re off to, enjoy. I’ve got my apartment situation figured out, so I’ll be out of your way by the time you get back.”
He didn’t smile or snort, didn’t give her one of his raised-eyebrows looks that said like hell you will. His gaze stayed fixed on her though, the wheels clearly turning behind eyes that matched his suit. Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t share it. No reason he should. They weren’t a couple. She couldn’t really classify them as friends either. But they were definitely something, and that didn’t bode well for self-preservation.
Time to make tracks. Put Curtis and his condo in her rearview mirror. The sooner, the better.
She pulled his shirt closed and cut around him on her way to the bathroom. The long arm of the lawman reached out and snagged her with ease. He didn’t haul her in tight for a sexy—or sweet—moment. The gesture was meant to stop her only.
“Stay here tonight.”
“I don’t need to. I’m getting the lock changed and door cleaned up today.” She braced for him to erupt. Lecture her about safety, point out that the guys who’d left the message hadn’t been dealt with.
The alpha cop side of him didn’t materialize. It seemed as if he hadn’t even registered her words.
He stepped into her space, caught a lock of hair and let it slide through his fingers as his eyes swept over her face. “The thing I’m headed to shortly…it’s not for work or fun. I know you have a late shift tonight, but I’d like it if you came here afterward.”
She’d seen him in many modes, including serious, but never this way. Heavyhearted. Burdened, almost. Her stomach twisted and groaned, neither having anything to do with hunger.
“What’s the thing?” She spoke the words slowly to delay the answer she feared hearing.
“Funeral.”
She swallowed. Nodded. “You didn’t mention it last night.”
“I know.”
“Because you thought I couldn’t handle it.”
He shook his head. “I know you can handle anything. That doesn’t mean you should have to.”
Damn him for being considerate and sensitive. For being so fucking sweet and good when all she’d wanted him to be was good in bed.
“I’ll spend the night,” she whispered.
He cupped her nape and leaned in for a kiss. One that said thank-you. One that chipped another hole in her dwindling resistance to the wonder that was Curtis Lawler.
Sara
“Hey,” Sara said when Nia answered her call. “Have time for a coffee this afternoon?”
“Um…actually, no. We’re just on our way out the door.”
“We? Conn’s home in the middle of the day? You guys just got back from two weeks on honeymoon. Must be nice to get so much vacation time.” Silence consumed the airtime between them. A pause so long she had to say, “Are you still there?”
“Yes, just a sec.”
In the background, Sara heard vehicle doors closing and Conn speaking to Nia. Though it was obvious Nia had covered her cell phone with her hand, a couple key words were clear enough for Sara to make out.
“You’re going to a funeral.”
“Shit, sorry,” Nia said softly. “I didn’t think you could hear any of that.”
“Am I that much of a headcase that nobody can mention a funeral to me? I know better than anybody that people fucking die.”
“I know you do.”
Sara pressed the end of her cell against her temple to stop the pulsing. If anything, it just throbbed harder. “Who was it?” she whispered.
“Brent. Conn’s cousin.”
Oh god. Not just Conn’s cousin, but Curtis’ also. And not some random person whose name meant nothing. Sara had met Brent at the wedding a few weeks ago. With his fiancé. Neither guy could have been more than thirty-five, tops. “How?”
“Don’t do this to yourself, you don’t need to know.”
That’s probably how Curtis felt too. Why he’d sheltered her from the information. He’d hidden his grief to protect her feelings.
She pinched her eyes closed and exhaled quietly. “Tell me. I want to know.”
“Oh, Sara.” Nia sighed on the other end of the line. “It was a brain aneurism. He and Sean were bowling on their league night. Brent said he needed to sit down because his head hurt. By the time Sean joined him at the table, Brent was…”
“Gone.”
“Yes. It was quick, at least.”
As opposed to the terror of dying while your house burned down around you, not knowing if your child had gotten out safely. She groaned and hung her head between her knees to ward off the nausea.
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. So, were they close—Brent and Conn…and Curtis?”
“Very. They grew up in the same neighborhood and practically lived at each other’s houses all the way through high school. Brent and Curtis were the same age.”
So this whole secret-funeral situation could get worse. Great. She straightened and did what needed to be done, which happened to be the impossible. “Give me the details for the service. I want to be there.”
“Oh my god, no. You only met him once at our wedding. Nobody would expect you to go to his funeral.”
“Brent could dish the shit almost as fast as me. I liked that about him. But he’s not the reason I’m going.” Time to rip the top of one of the cans of worms she’d been hiding from her sister-slash-best friend. “I want to be there for Curtis.”